


Smells Like Teen Spirit

by blackkat



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [7]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fugaku is a walking disaster, Gym class, Kushina and Mikoto guest-star as the peanut gallery, M/M, Minato is trying to be helpful, No bassoons were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9089548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: For the prompt "You suck at gym class and coach assigned me to be your partner, seriously dude, you can’t even kick a ball"





	

They’ve been at it for almost half an hour now, and at this point even Minato’s smile is starting to look a little strained.

“I don’t understand,” he says, the next best thing to plaintive as he pauses, eyeing the ball between them like it’s the enemy. “You’re an _Uchiha_.”

Fugaku grits his teeth. The only thing keeping him from throwing something at Minato’s head is the knowledge that it would probably hit Kushina behind him instead, and then Mikoto would very literally eviscerate him. “Not everyone in my family,” he bites out, “is a sports freak.”

“Ah, well, I don’t particularly think that—”

“What Pretty Boy’s trying to say,” Kushina butts in cheerfully as she heads for coach, “is that basic hand-eye coordination doesn’t make you a sports freak, Uchiha, it just makes you _normal_.”

Fugaku definitely should have let the ball hit her, Mikoto’s wrath be damned. Mikoto would be failing Chemistry without his help; surely that’s leverage enough to keep his skin intact.

“Just—throw the damn ball, Namikaze,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest.

Minato hesitates for a long moment, then sighs. “This isn’t baseball,” he says. “We’re trying to kick it. And standing like that you’re never going to get anywhere.” Before Fugaku can bristle, he crosses the space between them and slips right behind Fugaku, putting his hands on Fugaku’s shoulders. Fugaku stiffens, and Minato huffs. “See? If you go for a kick like this, you’ll either miss the ball or fall over. Just relax. Uncross your arms and try to balance yourself. I’ve seen you carrying around that huge horn thing for orchestra, and you haven’t fallen and broken it yet, so you must have _some_ sense of balance.”

“Horn thing— _it’s a bassoon_ ,” Fugaku splutters, entirely offended. “A _woodwind_ , not a damn trumpet!”

“Right,” Minato says sheepishly. “That thing. Okay, arms down, then stand like _this_.”

There are hands on his hips. Hands on his hips and breath on the back of his neck and this is starting to look _terrifyingly_ like some of Fugaku’s more explicit dreams about the football captain.

In desperation, he jerks free of Minato’s hold and aims a blind kick at the football. His foot connects, and the ball flies in a direction that is more assuredly not straight, pegging Coach Jiraiya straight in the back  of the skull. At the same time, Fugaku overbalances from the force and lands square on his ass.

Over by the water fountain, Kushina and Mikoto explode into hyena-like laughter, and Fugaku groans.

With a sympathetic smile, Minato offers him a hand up. “At least you managed to kick it that time. Try again?”

Gym is the _worst class ever_ , an nothing will ever change Fugaku’s mind on that front.

 


End file.
